The return of the Lemon Lord
by Wait-what-pancakes
Summary: A requested fanfic from Tumblr. The subject was "France, horror and literal lemons". There is a little plot twist on the end :-)


Francis woke in a pool of sweat. Panting he sat up, his trembling hand reaching for the nightlight. Once the light filled the room and the dark had retreated to the corners, he was able to take a deep breath. 'Just a dream.' he repeated in his mind. Once his heart stopped pounding, he got out of bed to get himself a glass of water in the kitchen. The alarm on his nightstand read three o'clock. A time of death.  
He went to the bathroom and filled his hands with cold water and splashed it in his face, hoping the freshness would wake him completely. He didn't like sleeping anymore, so he sat down on his couch and turned on the television. Zapping through news programmes, for which he wasn't in the mood, he stumbled on a film. Though it was an American comedy, he tried to watch to shake off the horrors of his nightmare. The pre-recorded laughter was not funny to him, and for some reason he was often tempted to look outside- as if there was something luring him to go out. But it rained- and he wasn't going outside for no real reason at this time.

It was around six when he decided he should get going. He took a shower that made him feel a lot less paranoid, and the clean feeling brightened his mood. He got dressed and made his bed with clean, new sheets, then headed out of his apartment to get something to eat at the bakery on the corner. He locked the door and slipped the keys in his pocket. The rain was still pouring; before he stepped outside, he pulled up his hood. He wouldn't let his hair be ruined. The street light at the bakery flickered. Something in Francis' stomach twisted, but he decided to pay it no mind. It must be the hunger, he thought with a smile. Oh, the hunger.

He entered the shop and pulled the hood from his head. A young woman in her twenties stood behind the counter, cleaning. He loved this bakery; family run, the love and passion for their craft was in the blood. Francis gave her a soft smile. "Bonjour Claire. How are you today?"  
"Bonsoir Francis." She gave a smile in return. "The weather keeps customers away. It's been relatively quiet today."  
"I am glad I can keep you company for a bit. Are you closing soon?"  
Claire held up her cleaning cloth. "I am closed. Open for you though, you're my sole exception."  
Francis smiled brighter and leaned on the counter, leaning close to Claire to look her in the eyes. "Would you like to drink something at my place? I wouldn't want you to go through this terrible weather alone."  
Claire's expression changed to something blank, then her smile returned and she nodded. "Lead the way, Francis."

The pair headed to Francis' apartment. Francis poured some lemon soda, and cooked dinner, no meat but plenty of replacement for it. Cooking without meat was a happy challenge for him and for Claire- it was worth it.  
"Bon appétit!" Francis sat with Claire as she ate.  
"Delicious, Francis, like always." She gave him a wink. "I wish I could eat your meals every day."  
Francis laughed softly. "Thank you. I try my best."  
"The rain doesn't seem to be stopping…" Claire sighed and leaned her head on her hand, elbow leaning on the table.  
"I have a guest room, if that is what you're asking. I am not opposed." Francis smiled and looked at the table before him as if he was suddenly shy.  
"I would like to sleep with you, Francis." She said softly. "No need for a guest room." Her hand appeared under Francis' chin and with her fingers she pulled up his face to look him in the eyes. Francis saw she wasn't blushing- she was serious, and he knew he had scored.  
"Should you not inspect the bed? Perhaps it is not to your liking." Francis took her hand and pressed a soft kiss on the knuckles, not breaking eye contact, but his facade broke and a smirk appeared for a small second.  
"Lead the way, Francis."  
They stood up, heading to the bedroom, Claire sat down and Francis sat beside her. "Do I have… permission?" He asked softly, looking at her from the window's reflection. Claire nodded and closed her eyes, as Francis kissed her neck before sinking in his sharp teeth. His stomach filled, and when he was done he contently sighed. He undressed Claire and put her in bed, covered her with blankets. When she would wake up next him the following morning, her memories would tell her a lovelier truth than being a vampire target every Monday evening.


End file.
